Defining Moments
by Maura Plaid
Summary: PG13 for graphicness. RENT-fic. Just read it - no summary may do it justice. MR Slash. Chapter 3 up!
1. Beginning

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, if I did I would marry Mark, but cheat on him with Roger.

A/N: This is my first RENT fic and my first Slash fic (it will become more slashy), but not because I've just discovered either. I just felt like writing some Mark/Roger and this came to me. Thank you to Lauren for the beta-read.

**Defining Moments**

Chapter One: Beginning

I remember the day I realized I loved him. Roger, I mean. That was one day that would change both our lives. It was the day April died. She had been living with us for a few months: Roger, Maureen, Collins, Benny, me, and April. She had always been pretty thoughtful, never did much of anything on whim. That made her the perfect match for the rash, impulsive Roger. That day she was going to give blood. Cash was short and the donation would help those worse off than even she was.

"Hello, may I help you?" asked the clerk at the front desk. His eyes swept over April as if assessing how much Lysol he would need to sanitize his floor after she had left.

"Um, I have an appointment with Dr. Marshall. My name is April." The clerk waited as if he was expecting a last name or a twenty dollar bill.

"Let me check, you can take a seat - or, no. Just wait here." April leaned against the desk as the clerk rifled through mounds of papers in search any record of the almost nameless girl in front of him. In the second stack of colorful forms he appeared to have found something. "Ah, Miss April. You can go straight back to the lab. Second door on your left." The clerk barely waited until after she left to pull out his spray sanitizer.

"Hell, April. If you will sit down here, we'll begin in a moment." Dr. Marshall pointed to a reclining chair set up next to two fluid bags on an IV stand. The nurse cut off the circulation in her upper arm and swabbed down the place in the crook of April's elbow where the blood flowed strongest.

"First, I'm going to take just enough blood to do some testing on. Basic things just to make sure your blood is safe for others." April felt the prick as the syringe entered her vein and then the larger pain when the needle was inserted that would actually take her donation. She had looked away while the test blood had been drawn, but now she could not resist. She turned to see her blood streaming out of her arm, through the plastic tube, and into the sterile bag. It looked so red, so thick, and there was so much, as if she could bleed forever and never run out.

"That's it, we're done! Here, drink this." The nurse handed her a glass of orange juice while another put a band-aid on the pinprick and plastered a sticker on her shirt as if April was a little kid in for her tetanus booster. "We'll get the lab results from your blood test later today. We'll call you by 7:00 PM if there's anything abnormal at all. Thank you, April." April walked out of the office in a daze. She spent most of the day wandering the Alphabet City and trying to find anything that would bring her even a temporary peace of mind until 7. She passed the Cat Scratch Club, the Life Café, the Food Emporium, the Rusty Zip, where Roger's band often played, all without noticing or entering. Somehow at 6:30 PM, April found that her feet had led her home, to the loft and the empty lot beside it. She climbed the stair and opened the door, all without thinking about where she was or what she was doing.

"Hey, baby! How'd the vampirism go?" Roger greeted April with a kiss, but she turned away and handed him the 20 dollars that her blood had earned them. "What's wrong? Do you feel ok? I hear blood loss can make you pretty woozy." Roger took April into his arms kissed her playfully on the side of her neck. Again, she dodged his lips and shook away his arms.

"I'll be fine, I- I'm just tired." April grabbed the phone and locked herself in the loft's small bathroom. Placing the phone on the toilet seat, she sat down and waited for the clinic to call.

hr

The phone rings. April doesn't screen. She picks it up on the second ring.

"Hello?" Her hands tremble as she raises the phone to her ear.

"Yes, April? This is Dr. Marshall from the Red Cross Clinic. I have your test results back and I'm afraid we did receive some unusual results. We can't use your blood. April, I'm sorry, there's no easy way to tell you this, but you are HIV positive. Now, you need to alert anyone that you have slept with in the past six months so that they can get themselves tested and on medication. Now, in your case, I would like to but you on a couple of antibiotics which will help to strengthen your immune system. April? Miss April, are you listening to me?" April wasn't. After the words "HIV positive" she had dropped the phone. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her life was over. Whether it ended today or three years from today, she was still dead. There really was no point in walking around like a shadow with no purpose. She opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out Roger's rarely used straight razor. She looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes welling with tears even as they were still with determination. She began to run the water in the bathtub, plugging the bottom and letting it fill. She sat down on the edge and looked at the razor in the light. The edge was a little dull, but it would have to do. Closing her eyes, she drew the razor sharply over her left wrist. It was easy, too easy. The blood began to flow, looking the same as it had in the clinic, but also different, freer. In this cold bathroom, it was not confined to a sterile tube, but flowed freely, staining all that it touches.

"Hey, Babe - are you alright in there? I heard the phone ring, I hope it wasn't the landlord! April? Can I come in?" Roger. April had somehow forgotten about him. She had to tell him, he had to know or else some other girl would end up like her. With her hand shaking, April dipped her forefinger into the pool of blood and began to write. As deftly as she could, April wrote out Roger's death sentence on the wall of the bathroom. Barely able to stand, she crawled into the overflowing bathtub to let the rest of her blood drain. She watched as the water turned pink, then was blurred by the spots clouding her vision.

"APRIL!!! What's wrong? Open this door! April, answer me!! Mark, help! April's locked herself in the bathroom and isn't answering." I watched from my usual place in the shadows as Roger ripped the door open, breaking whatever locking mechanism had previously been there. "NO, no, no. April!!!" Roger couldn't go in. The blood was too red, April was too pale, and the water had turned her drained body into a prune. That was my cue. I walked into the light and held my friend, the man I had lived with for years. He cried into my shoulder, permanently staining my sweater with his tears. I stroked his head and back, trying to comfort the sadness that I knew could not be comforted. I looked over his shoulder and saw the writing on the wall, April's last message to her lover. In dripping red letters, she had simply written "We've got AIDS." That was the moment. My heart was wrenched apart as I realized the double wound which had punched my roommate, my friend, and - now I knew - my love. I loved Roger more than I had every loved anybody, more even than Maureen. That was the moment that changed everything. The moment of truth, of strife, and even of joy. Maybe someday I'll tell him about the joy. Another Day.

Read it? Loved it? Hated it? Review it!

A/N: I will try to update by the end of the week, if it kills me.

P. S. I did have tears welling in my eyes while I wrote this


	2. Healing

Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson owns everything.  
  
A/N: Wow, this is my fastest update ever and this fandom rocks. All three reviews I got were constructive, a major first.  
  
the-fraulein: Thanks! I will definitely remember that characterization thing. I have issues with it (  
  
Butterflygurl: Yeah I considered doing it as a one-shot, but I like longer fics, and want to write more slash, but first I have to develop that.  
  
The.max.black: um, yeah. Research is a very good thing which does not happen at midnight, unfortunately.

**Defining Moments**

Chapter Two: Healing

After we lost April, nothing really was right again. Benny was the first to leave; he married Alison and bolted on the first opportunity with the intention of using his new wealth to help the starving artists like us. Well, that's not really what happened with him. Collins was next; he got another teaching job at MIT in the hopes that he would pick up some cash and maybe, just for once, influence a few young minds. Last was Maureen; she cheated on me all the time, if not in body than in mind, and one day she just decided to leave me - for Joanne, lawyer extraordinaire, the Harvard graduate. There was a period of two months when Roger and I were the only ones living in the loft. Those were the worst months I can remember. Roger was so close to me the entire time, with no one else to distract me, but he was so unattainable. He was a wreck. I had to help him with the basics at first: taking his AZT, eating, staying warm. The only time Roger would leave the house at all was to use the neighbors' bathroom - ours was still stained red from April's last day.  
  
"I'll be back in a minute." Roger put down his guitar and began to walk towards the door, presumably to go next door and use the bathroom.  
  
"You have to let go sometime. All this refusing to leave the loft and not using our bathroom is just forcing yourself to relive everything over and over again. Nothing that happened was your fault, April just had a different way dealing with things, you didn't hold the razor." Roger stopped in his tracks.  
  
"Don't say her name. What do you know? It was my fault! I'm the one who gave us AIDS! You were too wrapped up in your role as the 'artistic observer and documenter' to notice that I had started shooting heroin again! Couldn't you see the holes in my arm? The crease in my belt from cutting off the circulation? Why didn't you see and why didn't you help me? But it was my mistake. I was the one who chose to use someone else's needle behind the Life Café. I was the reckless one and now she's dead. So, no more drugs for Roger. No more bad decisions for Roger. No more life for Roger." By now he had turned around and faced me before he started shouting. He always seemed to like looking at me while he was shouting; it made it more personal, but also made it hurt more.  
  
"Roger, you can't undo the past. Just let her go and be done with it." I walked over to Roger and put my hands on his shoulders, my eyes boring into his.  
  
"How can I when our lovely pink bathroom reminds me of her every second. And not the her I want to remember - the April who could always make me laugh, inspired songs - but the April who was covered in blood, who should have taken my life instead of her own so I wouldn't have to live without her." Roger pulled away from me and walked out the door. I knew he would be back, but I was still worried about him.  
  
That day I bought bleach. Gallons of bleach. I didn't see Roger again until late because I spent the day in April's bathroom, destroying the pink stains and hopefully destroying some of Roger's pain. That morning I had hardly been able to stop myself from kissing him and trying to make it all better that way, but he wasn't ready for that and I doubted that he ever would be. More importantly, I wasn't ready for that. I was too scared that he would hate me forever. That night, when he was leaving to go pee, I told him to use ours.  
  
"Roger they're gone, she's gone now. You don't have to walk around like a ghost anymore. Play your guitar, go out, do anything just so you won't be sitting here feeling sorry for yourself." Roger was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, the same place where he sat everyday. If he moved, I was sure that his shadow would still be imprinted upon that wall.  
  
"Why? What reason to I have to go on? Mark, I'm HIV positive, do you even understand what that means? It means I have a couple of years and then I'm dead. That's what I am - a dead man walking. I bet no one would even notice if there was one less artist living in this city." I knelt down next to him and put my hand on his shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it was more than Roger had gotten since April's death.  
  
"I would notice. Roger, how can you say that you have no reason to live, when I'm standing here and telling you to get on with your life? I need you. If you left me here or died, I am alone, entirely alone. Right now, it's as if I already am, because you're no more than a ghost. Live, Roger - if not for yourself then for my sake." I got up and started to walk and allow Roger to make his own decision.  
  
"I'm sorry." Those words stopped me in my tracks. "Mark, I forgot about you. It sounds ridiculous because you've been here for me more than I have for myself. I really have been a selfish bastard, haven't I?" A small smile crept across his face, the first I had seen there in months.  
  
"I know, just forget about it." This conversation was starting to get too close for comfort. Another minute or two and I would be blurting out hoe much I really did care about him. Roger wasn't ready for that, yet.  
  
"I can't, but I can try. I think I'm ready to go back there, the bathroom where she..."  
  
"I know, let me help you up." I came back and gave Roger my hand. He grabbed it and pulled himself up. We walked to the sparkling white bathroom together.  
  
"Wow. It's as if she was never here. I don't know if that's good or bad, but for now it should do." I had followed Roger into the bathroom to admire my work. "Thanks, Mark. Now get out."  
  
"Huh?" Those last words startled me. Hadn't we just made a breakthrough? Was he going to start yelling at me again?  
  
"I love you, buddy, but I need to pee."  
  
"Oh!" I quickly hurried out, slamming the door behind me. I returned to the main room and sank down into Roger's corner. He had said he loved me, but did he mean just brotherly love that no one could go through what we had without? Or did he mean more? I looked out the window upon the dealers, queens, and crooks that were part of everyday life in the Alphabet City. Roger still confused me, but it would be enough for now. The rest would become clear with time.  
  
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	3. Haunting

Disclaimer: Sigh These tasty boys belong to Jonathan Lawson.  
  
A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed, especially those of you who stuck with me. I apologize for the time lapse between updates, but I went to Paris and then worked a show, leaving little time for writing. I also apologize for the ending. You'll see what I'm talking about. I will actually write RENT for act 2 before I write post-rent.  
  
the-fraulein: Thank you! Yes! I have achieved characterization.  
  
Butterflygurl: I didn't purposely do that, but I'm glad you read into it.  
  
evilemmylou: Here is your update! (Who doesn't love those boys?!)  
  
thehobbitgirl: someday he will. Mark knows the brevity of life better than anyone.  
  
**Defining Moments**  
  
Chapter Three: Haunting  
  
Christmas Eve. Roger has been looking better day by day. He no longer leaves the house to use the bathroom. Unfortunately he still doesn't leave the house at all. Roger is still a ghost that haunts my room, but in the past month he has begun to solidify, until today I could actually touch him without my hand sliding straight through.  
  
"Hey Roger, I was over at the Life Café the other day." I told him as he pored over old sheet music, not yet daring to touch his guitar.  
  
"So? You go there everyday. Why should this visit be different than any other you've made." Roger didn't even look at me as I continued to speak.  
  
"Well, the Rainbow Vortexes are looking for a new guitarist. They asked me if you were available. Apparently your fame has spread past Avenue A."  
  
"I'm not ready yet. It's a miracle that I can even look at that guitar, let alone actually play it. You say that I haunt this apartment, but that guitar haunts me." Maybe I could let him be. Just this once. I certainly had pushed him hard enough during the past two months. It would be a Christmas present for both of us. For him, a day in contentment; for me, a day where has shouting voice did not pierce my heart.  
  
"All right, Roger. I'll be ready when you are. Just don't make me wait too long." I didn't realize the meaning that could be taken from those words until after they left my lips. Roger stared at me for a minute before he replied. His eyes seemed to be reading me, trying to see what I had meant by those words.  
  
"Oh, the guitar," he said after the long pause. For a second I could have sworn I had seen his face fall with that realization. Had he hoped that I meant more? Time to investigate. I went down upon my knees to be at eye level with him, and looked him in the eyes.  
  
"No matter what you need me for, I'll be ready." His eyes flicked over mine and I tried to broadcast my true meaning in those words. Beat. He seemed to understand and was not panicking. I put my hands down on either side of his curled legs and began to lean in, my heart beginning to pound like the drums of a Roman barge at ramming speed. He looked scared for a second, but then relaxed. As my lips lightly brushed against his own, both us seemed to have submitted to the kiss. His arms moved to my waist, pulling my closer to him.  
  
The phone rings. I suddenly find myself on the floor a foot away from the still kneeling Roger, not knowing whether it was I who leapt away or him who pushed me. I briefly met his startled eyes, before my own were drawn to the answering machine.  
  
"Speak!... oops. wrong number." A familiar female voice speaks and then hangs up immediately.  
  
"Was is just me, or did I know that voice?" asks Roger, his cool voice showing nothing of his seeming panic that I had seen only a minute ago.  
  
"Maureen." His eyes were now closed to me. I had tasted paradise for one brief, shining moment and now it was locked away behind steel. Maureen had ruined that for me with a misdial.  
  
"Roger...we need to-" He cut me off without even thinking.  
  
"No, we don't." Roger skulked off into the bathroom that had finally gotten him to live again and slammed the door in my face.  
  
"-talk." After he shut the door I said it, so quiet that he would have had to be listening for it to hear it. "I love you." I walked away - that seemed to be the only plausible action that I could take.  
  
That was the coldest night of winter. I set up my camera and began to film. Not from a script I had written, but just whatever took my fancy. The most surprising thing happened when Roger came out of the bathroom. He walked off into his room and stayed there for only a few minutes. When he came back, cradled in his hands was the Fender guitar he hadn't touched since April's death.  
  
"Roger..." I stopped shooting simply out of shock, hoping, wishing that this guitar meant more than just a guitar.  
  
"This means nothing. I just don't have enough life left to waste it." That made me love him more than ever. I had given him back his life. If I had been able to touch him once more, my hand would have rested upon the surface of his skin, now perfectly solid. I was no longer haunted.  
  
Insert Act I of RENT here  
  
Roger may have been able to forget. Mimi helped him get out, or at least she took the credit for it. Christmas Eve was truly a magical night. A new family was born, a family that made up for the closeness I wanted having been snatched away by a girl with a candle. I don't bear her any ill will for it. Seeing Roger happy for once makes up for the fact that I am not the one doing it. And I received the best Christmas present that I could ever get. A kiss from the man I loved.  
  
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